


You're In Love With A Psycho

by RosVailintin



Series: Manquer D'Amour N'Est Pas Un Crime [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Post-Reichenbach, Based on a One Direction Song, Death, Dirty Jokes, Dying To Try by Brendan Murray, Explicit Language, First Dates, First Kiss, First Time, Ghosts, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, M/M, Memories, Mentioned Colonel James Moriarty, Night Changes by One Direction, POV Jim Moriarty, Paranoia, Sad Ending, Song Parody, Sorry Not Sorry, but still kind of evil bc mormor are CRIMINALS guys, double parody!, this probably look a bit like..skam?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-10-31 22:03:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10908342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosVailintin/pseuds/RosVailintin
Summary: Title is a song by Kasabian. I don't really remember the song, but the moment I heard 'you're in love with a psycho' I thought of MorMor so here it is. It's a double parody of my two fav songs,Night Changesby One Direction andDying To Tryby Brendan Murray. The latter is this year's Irish Eurovision entry and I'M NOT YET OVER IT THAT BREN DIDN'T GET TO THE FINAL. He deserves it he really does. Last year was Nicky Byrne and he didn't get in, and I was so gutted and I just told myself, Fine it's true that there are loads of people who sing better than him. But this year, this year it's unbelievable. Just how? How could it happen like this? I can't say he can really win with, say, Kris out there, but at least he should be IN THE FINAL. And I just wanna hear him and Nathan sing together again. There's definitely a chemistry between them! Nathan is in. Actually EVERY entry Bren said he liked got in and he didn't. IT HURTS.Okay...too much Eurovision. This isn't even an Eurovision fic (but I wanna write a Bren/Nathan one!). Sorry. So basically the two chapters are set in different time periods and THIS IS SAD. It's sweet in the beginning but it will be sad. Casting Fassy as Seb in my head but since I just watchedAlien: CovenantI don't know if Seb will be a wee bit like David/Walter.And there's...probably a little bit of myself in it. A little bit.Here we go.





	1. Drug

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a song by Kasabian. I don't really remember the song, but the moment I heard 'you're in love with a psycho' I thought of MorMor so here it is. It's a double parody of my two fav songs, [_Night Changes_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=syFZfO_wfMQ) by One Direction and [_Dying To Try_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dp3apBsLjvk) by Brendan Murray. The latter is this year's Irish Eurovision entry and I'M NOT YET OVER IT THAT BREN DIDN'T GET TO THE FINAL. He deserves it he really does. Last year was Nicky Byrne and he didn't get in, and I was so gutted and I just told myself, Fine it's true that there are loads of people who sing better than him. But this year, this year it's unbelievable. Just how? How could it happen like this? I can't say he can really win with, say, Kris out there, but at least he should be IN THE FINAL. And I just wanna hear him and Nathan sing together again. There's definitely a chemistry between them! Nathan is in. Actually EVERY entry Bren said he liked got in and he didn't. IT HURTS.  
>  Okay...too much Eurovision. This isn't even an Eurovision fic (but I wanna write a Bren/Nathan one!). Sorry. So basically the two chapters are set in different time periods and THIS IS SAD. It's sweet in the beginning but it will be sad. Casting Fassy as Seb in my head but since I just watched _Alien: Covenant_ I don't know if Seb will be a wee bit like David/Walter.  
>  And there's...probably a little bit of myself in it. A little bit.  
> Here we go.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Jim?'
> 
> 'Hmm?'
> 
> 'Sláinte.' You raised your glass.
> 
> I smiled, 'Sláinte.'
> 
> The little ting as our glasses touched, the sound of our breaths, that's all that filled the silence. The noises of talking and music from the pubs were distant and blurry. And light - light was not for this moment, not for us. Dust floated in the last glow before darkness. Soft, yellow light gleamed on the edge of the knives. Night was spreading like dark blood from a wound in the heavens, in which drowned all the sparkles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly _Dying To Try_ , and is mostly (just mostly) sweet. Chapter title comes from [_Love Is A Drug_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vTWZlI6eqTc) by Markus Feehily. I tried to quote 'need something for the pain but the killer is us' which is my fav lyric from the song, but failed to make something short and nice out of it. This song itself doesn't have much to do with the story though, but it's a very beautiful and emotional song, and Salvador Sobral reminds me of Mark so much. Sorry I'm talking Eurovision again! It's a mythical beast yes indeed.  
>  Btw I remembered [sszdyl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sszdyl) suggested casting Armie Hammer as Seb! And I was like, Well yeah why not! I mean...doesn't Armie look a bit like young Michael? Thank you for the inspiration babe!  
> And sorry in advance for the bad joke, even though you don't know what it is yet. It's just for the plot and I'm feeling quite bad about it, like really.

No one can promise that love will ever learn how to fly, but I'm dying to try.

\- Brendan Murray·Dying To Try

* * *

The large, empty eyes stared back at me in the mirror. They were deep and dark. From time to time, I felt like they didn't belong to this pale face. Like they didn't belong to me.

My jacket was open, revealing the conspicuous red of the shirt.

The sound of footsteps came from the other end of the hallway. I took a few steps back, looking into the stained mirror above the sink one last time. I turned away, picked up the bag from one of the few clean parts of the floor, and threw it onto my left shoulder. It hurt a bit; I should stop using the same shoulder every day, I thought. The footsteps was already clear. I walked over to the door and pulled it open, and at the exact moment I realised there was another force pushing from the outside. But it was too late, and I ended up being almost knocked down.

'Are you okay?' Said a nervous voice from above, 'Oh no, I'm sorry!'

A hand landed on my left arm, while the other one was held out towards me.

'No, I'm fine.' I mumbled with a small laugh that sounded like a sneer, 'I'm fine.' I repeated, ignoring the helping hand, neither looking up.

The hand on my arm dropped. 'Let's go?' The voice suggested hesitatingly.

I felt your eyes on me all the time, but I didn't meet them. 'Where?' I casually threw you the single word, walking past you to the hallway.

You followed about half a meter behind me. I stood and turned around, squeezing a thumb between my shoulder and the strap of the bag. I returned your gaze, finally, and your eyes looked like turquoises in the twilight.

You shrugged, looking left and right, then back to my face, 'I don't know...The rugby pitch?' You seemed to regret saying it the moment you finished.

I raised an eyebrow. 'Well, if you don't mind -'

'If you don't mind -' You trailed off with me in unison, then we both stopped. There was one second of silence. 'Sorry, you go on.' You said.

'No, what did you wanna say?'

You licked your lips, 'Uh, I just...I was thinking that if you don't mind, Father won't be there tonight, so maybe...yeah, you know...'

'Okay.' I cut you off. I didn't tell you that I wanted to suggest going to my place too.

'Fine, cool.' A restrained smile crept up your face. When we reached the stairs, you added, 'He'll be away the whole week.' You glanced at me.

I didn't comment.

You lived by the river between O'Connor Bridge and Ha'penny Bridge, just four and a half blocks away. We both knew more than well the way there, but you acted like fearing I would get lost. You walked beside me, our shadows long and slim, looking funny. It was getting colder as the sun set, and subconsciously I stayed closer to you. You had that heat around your body all the time, no matter what the weather was; it was kind of magical.

Neither of us spoke a word the entire journey, and the noises of Fleet Street could only make this silence even louder.

You passed the mailbox and went straight upstairs. You unlocked all the three locks, and the door slowly opened itself with a lazy whine. I threw my bag onto the sofa, and it landed in a pile of laundry. My left shoulder cracked as I stretched a bit. Damn, I thought, I have to stop carrying everything with it. You lifted the bag, winced, and put it down. The look you gave me was as if I had just slayed a demon bare-hand.

'What the hell did you put in there?' You cocked your head towards the bag.

'Dead heads.' I said, trying to hang my coat up to the ridiculously high hanger.

'What?' You asked like it was the biggest secret in the world.

I rolled my eyes and tossed the coat on the sofa, 'You believe it?'

You took my coat and hung it up. 'I...probably don't.'

'Hmm.' I sneer, heading to the fridge, 'What do you want?' I looked over my shoulder at you.

You opened your mouth to answer, but stopped halfway. Instead, you walked over, 'Here,' you passed me, your shoulder touching mine, 'I've got something.'

I stepped back and leaned against the kitchen bar. You pulled the door of the old fridge and held it open with the right hand. From cans and bottles of vodka stuffing all the shelves, you took out two cans of Guinness and a bottle of some cheap sparkling wine that surely didn't match the 'champagne' written on the label. You put the bottle in your right hand and shoved the door with your elbow, before coming over standing beside me. Without a word, you walked off again to the racks on the wall. I stared at the wine label, not really reading. The smell of evening leaked in from the open window.

'It's bad, I know.' You suddenly said. I looked up, and met your eyes. 'The wine,' you explained, 'it's not champagne, obviously.'

'Why did he buy it then?' I asked, 'He didn't even touch it.' I meant your father, because you would never buy some crap like that. For you, it was always the best or nothing.

'Who knows. I guess he forgot.' You came back with cocoa powder, salt and half a bottle of blackcurrant cordial.

I raised an eyebrow at the funny crowd of containers in front of us.

'And then,' you went on while grabbing the two largest glasses from the cupboard, 'when he finds it's gone - if he ever does - he'll think it was me who bought it.'

I shrugged, sliding my fingers into the pockets of the tight jeans, 'Funny that he never forgets how much vodka he has.' It was a bit of struggle to make some space for my hands.

You poured a whole can of Guinness into each glass, and effortlessly opened the wine as if it was what you had done a million times - Well, you had.

'What -' You started the same time as I did, again. We exchanged a look. You chuckled from the throat, 'You first.'

'What're the large glasses for?'

'They're -' Then, however, like suddenly changing your mind, you put the bottle down and turned towards me, 'What do you think?'

'You don't collect your come with it, yeah?' I immediately realised I've probably gone too far.

You were completely blank for a moment. Shite, I thought, what was I even saying? Not that I couldn't speak like that, just not with you. I knew too much about you, so I had to be extra cautious. We got closer, closer, while more and more frequently I felt I didn't know you at all. I didn't dare pick up any word and let it out. I didn't dare do anything I came up with. It wasn't like me. It's absurd. Funny though, that we had so much in common - so many secrets in common. But as I was almost ready to apologise, you burst out laughing, so hard that I had to move the drinks away. You eventually recomposed yourself and said, 'Screw you, you rascal!' You pushed me playfully at the chest, your cheeks flushing.

I avoided your eyes, 'What were you gonna say?'

It wasn't like me. This was all I thought of. I had never ever cared about hurting anyone, because I was too used to it. I was too used to being hurt, and then to hurting. I was aware of what I had said and done, and I let me. No one complained, no one challenged me; fear held them back. Then there was you, and something inside me was burnt down. To be honest, I hated you for that. You added emotions to me, which became a burden, a cage, with chains I couldn't get rid of.

You cleared your throat, and answered in a very serious tone, 'They're actually flower vases.'

Okay, I said to myself, okay. Somehow I succeeded in holding back the impulse of laughing. 'No, no, I mean what was your question.'

You didn't answer immediately, taking your time to draw zigzagging lines and crooked pictures on the foam with cocoa powder and salt. So there was once a time when there were vases of flowers in the house, I thought. It suddenly became less funny that we were about to drink from flower vases. And it suddenly made me feel even worse that I joked about it that way. I sort of knew what happened during that instant of blankness, but at the same time, I guess I didn't. You laughed it off, just like I did when you made fun of the 'thing' James made when he went insane. I didn't tell you it was his last work, I didn't tell you he died just thirteen minutes after the clay dried, and I didn't tell you that in his last thirteen minutes, he told me, and only me, what that 'thing' was about. So I suppose there was something behind the flower vases too, that you kept to yourself.

The sound of the friction of glass and wood knocked me out to the reality. 'I invented this.' You said.

I picked the drink up with both hands and tried to figure out what was the drawing. It looked like a banana in a box, with a very out-of-shape letter 'J' near the edge. I glanced at you through the lashes, and you were smiling. Cheeky, I thought, taking in a mouthful of foam.

'Not too bad?'

'Hmm.'

'So,' you leaned in, 'what's the red shirt about?'

'Hmm?' I took another sip, 'Just because you haven't seen it before?'

'Well, you read me.' You rolled your eyes, 'So?'

I tilted my head, 'Because I want to.'

You curled your lips, looking disappointed, 'Okay...' Your gaze travelled from my eyes all the way down, skirting the neckline of the shirt, 'I thought you dressed up for some special occasion.'

I shifted uncomfortably under your intense stare, 'Hmm...What special occasion you mean?'

'Well,' you straightened up again, tidying my collar, 'I don't know, just guessing.' Your fingertip touched my bare skin beside the first button undone.

The drink was not strong, but powerful, like a small piece of art with big stories behind - like _Ruth et Booz_ , maybe. It was hard to describe. I came to realise that it was the first time that we really just sat down to enjoy a drink together. In a way, it could be called a special occasion. And in a way, I picked this shirt because of you, indeed. The lights were off, and the sun was disappearing.

'Jim?'

'Hmm?'

'Sláinte.' You raised your glass.

I smiled, 'Sláinte.'

The little ting as our glasses touched, the sound of our breaths, that's all that filled the silence. The noises of talking and music from the pubs were distant and blurry. And light - light was not for this moment, not for us. Dust floated in the last glow before darkness. Soft, yellow light gleamed on the edge of the knives. Night was spreading like dark blood from a wound in the heavens, in which drowned all the sparkles.

I threw my head back and finished the last bit of alcohol. I put the glass on the bar and pushed it a little farther away, before looking up and found you staring.

I felt something, but I didn't know what it was. It invaded every part of me like a virus.

You put down your drink too. Your eyes held mine like needles piercing through the center of my pupils; time slowed down, and your gaze was all I had in sight. I was like dead, watching you lean in, closer, closer, in slow motion. Your visage was clearer, clearer, and I could count every eyelash and every freckle. Your hand rose to the back of my head, pulling at my hair forcing me to raise my chin up -

Our lips were crashed together. It was more strange, actually feeling the unexpected softness, than shocking or terrifying with how sudden it happened. The smell of your cologne was so strong that I almost lost my senses, and you were literally biting rather than sucking. Your tongue rudely broke in as you turned and bent forward, making me fall back. My elbows hit the bar; I whined, but it got stuck beneath the watery sound that filled my ears. I tried to respond, struggling to keep up with your fast, violent movements. You kept my head up, rubbing the bare skin of my stretched neck; it hurt with the pressure and heat, but I only wanted more.

You were knocking your crotch in between my thighs. I couldn't move; I was stuck in this position with all the weight of my body on my arms and the back of my waist against the edge of the bar. Every sound I made disappeared in the kiss, leaving me more and more breathless. I heard the click of your belt buckle, then the sharp noise of it hitting the floor. I decided to keep my eyes shut. You unzipped your jeans, stripped it off, and threw it onto the nearby table. Your tongue was always twined with mine, again and again sending fire through my veins. It was all so overwhelming that when you pulled away, I felt lost. You pinned me down on the bar. There was this smell and this heat near my face, and it was something new.

Nothing happened for a few seconds. I didn't open my eyes, wishing the darkness would calm me down.

You caressed my lower lip, slowly, gently, with one finger.

Your finger was then replaced by something else, as soft, as warm.

The moment you thrust in, I almost choked. My mouth was opened to the extreme, and your length penetrated straight into my throat, twisting my moans. It was like not being able to swallow something, and I wanted to vomit, but the pain getting intense in my pants said the contrary. Saliva filled my mouth and streamed down from the corner of my lips. You were a beast, completely merciless, hitting the back of my skull at an inhuman speed with your cock like a red-hot iron stick. The pubic hair, sticky with precome, was constantly brushing my face. The dose of your scent was too far over what I could take. My chest hurt and my mind was a mess with the lack of oxygen. The erotic sounds swirled and echoed like tornadoes. The awkwardness of the position didn't even matter much any more.

I didn't know how I managed not to come in my pants. When you pulled out straining and peeled my skintight jeans off, the brief was thoroughly soaked, and it felt cold being exposed.

'Ugh!' I gasped as your finger slid in. You didn't even bother to remove the underwear. I had imagined the worst of pain, but actually it wasn't the pain that mattered. Having a part of the body of someone else inside me was something unknown before. Plus, it was a part of YOU.

You added to three fingers in ten seconds, and with the accelerating speed, every thrust went deeper and hurt a little more. There was a morbid desire burning inside me, begging for both overbearing dominance and mercy. You withdrew all fingers, but left me no time to complain about the emptiness before filling it again, even fuller. My cock twitched and jerked out. The throb was so fast and powerful that the bar constantly made cracking sounds. The soreness and all the discomfort were killing me; I was choking as if having forgotten how to breathe. Every sense blurred, and I hardly felt the hard surface beneath my body. All I knew was my own moans and you being in and out of me. It was like the most beautiful nightmare, the kind that you would definitely remember after waking up, but distant and vague.

When you came, your cock twitched and the tip dropped out of the hole, splashing hot, sticky liquid all over my thighs. I followed right after, untouched, wetting my own chest. You bent down and licked me up. I blinked the water out of my eyes and watched you. You were glancing up from time to time; your edges softened under the moonlight, and your skin was rosy, making your hair look blonder and your eyes bluer. You reached up and cupped my face in both hands, caressing. Our lips touched again, and this time, it was slow and gentle. The air was full of the smell of perfume and sweat, as well as heat and little watery sounds. I ran my fingers through your soft hair, my tongue seeking yours.

It was a full moon night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this is it! Thank you for reading and please let me know what you think if you'd like! It frightened me when I saw two kudos when there were only three hits. Thanks a tone!  
> Now I'll explain a few things.  
> It's not directly said in the fic but the location of the college is Trinity, because that's where Andrew studied drama (just for six months though).  
> The drink is, like, a mixture of Black Velvet, Purple Guinness and Irish Coffee, and I'm afraid it won't taste good. I don't know.  
>  _Ruth et Booz_ is a painting by Frédéric Bazille, and it was painted over _Jeune fille au piano_ , his first Salon submission that got rejected. And I'm just guessing that there should be some stories behind both works, I'm not really sure.  
> The red shirt is a _Hollyoaks_ reference! Brendan Brady and Ste Hay's second kiss (the first happened at Brendan's place and he pretended to be unhappy about it, and then here he is, in that red shirt, pushing Ste up against the wall and all) happened with Bren in THE red shirt. It's always one of my fav scenes. And of course I try to match 'changing into something red' too.  
>  And about the full moon, there's a Chinese saying that goes (I'm terrible at translating btw), 'The moon wanes once it's full.' Because the ending will be sad, it's promised. It's kind of like the first kiss scene of Even and Isak in SKAM (yet another pool scene) I think? I mean, that scene is considered as a _Titanic_ reference and implying that their relationship would end up tragic. At least that's what I heard critics say.  
>  I've read a PWP fic in Chinese (Greg Lestrade/Alternate Greg Lestrade lol) and watched some gay porn (yes I did, thank you Tumblr) while writing this, so...I don't know, maybe they had some influence.  
> And I guess the next chapter will take some time because I haven't finished my homework yet. Homework assigned in January, I mean.  
> Oh and, the drawing on the drink will be mentioned again in the next chapter.


	2. Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Sláinte.' I whispered as my glass touched the empty one.
> 
> The window was blown open by the wind. Cheerful talking, laughing and singing leaked in along with the last thread of light. I sat down on the floor beside you, back towards the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Vamps released the new single _Hands_ so I'm updating a new chapter! There's no logic here.  
>  This chapter is mainly a _Night Changes_ parody. At first I titled it 'Lost Innocence', but since the first chapter has a single-word title, I cut this down to one word too.  
>  This will be quite sad and post-Reichenbach, so you know what happens.

Embrasse-moi, dis-moi que tu m'aimes, fais-moi sourire au beau milieu d'un requiem.

\- Alma·Requiem

* * *

Dublin is so alive. Night has long fallen, but the streets are lit up brighter than day. People walk in their own directions, dance in their own ways, and think about their own things. A boy around 18 is dragging his buddy into Gypsy Rose, but the other guy seems to prefer a proper dinner at Pablo Picante. Music from all the pubs, cafés and restaurants mix up and become a funny fusion. The reflections in River Liffey are trembling in the breeze. Hardly a star can be seen, and there is only this crescent moon with its faint glow.

Things have changed. There used to be more stars in the sky and less lights on the ground, there used to be karaoke bands calling random people to come up the stage, and there used to be much less posters on the ceiling of Gypsy Rose. But in a way, nothing has changed. Temple Bar is still crowded, cheerful little humans are still singing and dancing instead of going to bed, and there are still River Liffey and the moon.

And this place remains as scruffy, as dark, as quiet as I remember, and I remember from the night 7 years ago.

It's too late to say anything.

I laid on the roof until Tom came. He did a good job by the way, and I think I should thank you for that. You trained him really well. He left me alone afterwards without a word. At that moment, I felt that something wasn't right. He was hiding from me. I let him go though, knowing that he would convince me that everything was fine.

I immediately flew back to Dublin. All alone. People didn't know about my little drama yet. I returned to my place, tidied myself a bit, and put on the red shirt. It was old and worn, the colour faded, but still fit. I threw the bag onto my left shoulder and walked out. Night was falling, and lights were on one by one. I walked past the rugby pitch, and stopped in front of the theatre. Some students came out, talking and laughing, large duffel bags in their hands. They saw me and smiled. I smiled back. Going through the hallways, I heard the rehearsal of _McBeth_ in Irish. The hallways led me to the dressing rooms. I pushed one of the doors open, and stood in front of the stained mirror.

The dark, deep eyes were staring back at me. They blinked slowly on the pale, cold face.

My jacket was open, showing off the dazzling red of the shirt.

I left. Four and a half blocks, by the water, between the bridges. It's been some years since I had been here, but I always remembered. The twilight cooled down the air and stretched shadow like it was a dough. Fleet Street was as noisy as usual, happy faces around me, singing, dancing, drinking pint after pint. Beside the posters on Bedford Lane, two boys were kissing affectionately, both of them only in tee.

I entered the digital code and pulled the heavy door open. When it closed behind me, all the noises were blocked outside, and it felt like becoming deaf for a moment. I walked past the mailbox and went upstairs. I didn't rush, taking my time to get ready. I hadn't really prepared my lines; I just kept imagining what reaction I would get, and simply the imagination made me smile. I would not show it on the face, but even on the inside, it was genuine. I didn't call you in advance, hoping to make it a surprise. I could picture turning the keys and hearing you stand up at the sound of it. I would pull the door open, and you would probably be pushing at the same time, but this time I could know that and wouldn't be knocked down. Then you would be shocked to see me, but beyond all, you would be so overwhelmed that I actually came back, and there would be kisses and drinks, and maybe sex, but that could wait.

I have reached the door. I caught my breath and listened, but there was no sound. I wondered what you were up to. Maybe you're asleep, I thought. You could take a nap at any time. I carefully inserted the key and turned it slowly, making as little noise as possible. Had there been anyone watching, they would have called the police and said I was a thief. It took like ages to turn twice before the door opened with a long whine. I threw my bag onto the sofa, along with the jacket. I wanted to curse about the ridiculously tall hanger, but stopped.

Silence.

All I heard was silence.

After 13 years, once again, I felt fear, and only fear.

Dust was floating in the fading sunlight. Night was falling, and the town looked like a pool of crimson blood.

I smelled Guinness, but it was not just Guinness. There were cocoa, blackcurrant and wine. And something fishy. Stronger than the smell of dust.

Blood.

Staggering to the kitchen, I almost stumbled. There had never been once in my life that I let emotions win over reasons. It was the very first time that I couldn't control it. I knew I'd break, and I let me.

On the night of our first kiss, I brought you a dagger. It was James's. The first time you came to my place, you saw it in the display cabinet and couldn't take your eyes off it. James noticed, and he wanted you to have it. It was one of the things he said to me in his last 13 minutes of life. That dagger was why the bag was so heavy. Dead heads were disgusting, really. And it was indeed a special occasion, not that I had foreseen everything that happened. Even you have probably forgotten, but that day was also your 18th birthday. Although you never mentioned it, I've seen your ID.

It was the dagger you loved with your life, and it was the same dagger that took your life.

Your body laid on the floor in front of me. The heat was no more. Blood was still running out from the long, deep cut on your wrist, flowing over the dried stain at a slow, steady pace. Under the effect of alcohol, there was no trace of pain or suffering on your face. Despite the inhuman paleness of your skin, you looked just like asleep. The dagger you still held tight in your hand was covered in red, gleaming.

On the bar stood two glass vases, one empty, one full. There was the same crooked drawing made with cocoa powder on the foam. The lines didn't zigzag that much, but the level of art was still below beginner. I picked the glass up with both hands. The picture you drew was not a banana in a box. You wanted to draw my magpie whose name was also James. What you didn't know was that your 21st birthday was the day he was gone, and that when it happened, I was not there. I was not by his side in the last 13 minutes of his life. No one was.

'Sláinte.' I whispered as my glass touched the empty one.

The window was blown open by the wind. Cheerful talking, laughing and singing leaked in along with the last thread of light. I sat down on the floor beside you, back towards the window.

After your funeral, I left Dublin. Neither did I ever appear in London again. I stayed in Corsica, letting guilt tear me up. Yes, it wasn't me who killed you, and I didn't send you the dagger to let you suicide. I simply couldn't get over it. This consequence had been in my head but I pushed it out. You had called me but I cut you off. Tom had known everything but I let him go. Your life was the cost of all these. Of course, I always had the mask on, so this story remained to myself.

Now, 7 years later, I eventually returned. Tom has offered to take care of this place, but I refused. Instead, I just covered everything with white cloth. The dagger stayed with you.

I'm leaning against the bar, listening to the distant noise from beneath. In the darkness, I try to remember the feeling of your hugs, your kisses, of touch and breath on me. I try to recollect your voice, your smile, and all the wrinkles on your face. And there is no one else with that warmth around their body. Someone on the telly said that if you could not get over someone, just go back to every place you have been with them, and go through every single thing you have done together. That's just cliché; I bet they have never experienced what it's really like. I stand up, and shut the window. Silence embraces me again.

I close my eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are welcome!  
> One more Eurovision reference. _Requiem_ was France's entry this year and it's not bad. Alma is pretty! Although I don't understand why they'd send a song named 'Requiem' to Eurovision. Bren was called 'suicidal Irish boy' because of the song, but France is kind of suicidal too I think? Whatever.  
>  So still a few things to explain.  
> Tom is Molly's boyfriend.  
> Chose _McBeth_ mostly because I wanted to. I wished the plot could have something in common with this fic but I guess not. Initially wrote _Waiting For Godot_ , but then I was like, Nah it's too hard to just hear the rehearsal and know it's _Waiting For Godot_.  
>  And about the magpie, I remember having read a work talking about Jim and his pet magpie but I couldn't remember which one it was.  
> Corsica because first, Napoleon ended up there; second, Corsican is an interesting language and there's a cute Corsican band called Incantèsimu.

**Author's Note:**

> Sad that Kris didn't win either, it was Portugal. Okay...Salvador is really cute, and I like that song. At least Kris was lost to a cutie who can really sing, so okay.


End file.
